


Why Not?

by Naemi



Category: The Faculty RPF
Genre: Angsty thoughts, M/M, POV First Person, Promiscuity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-22
Updated: 2005-05-22
Packaged: 2017-12-04 02:10:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/705304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naemi/pseuds/Naemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is nothing that appears in neon letters on your forehead, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Not?

**Author's Note:**

> [set in 1998]

 

So here I am in the middle of nowhere, on the edge of my universe, and all I have left is the slight blush of shame on my cheeks as well as the aftertaste of one of my fellow cast mates on my lips. It just seems so fucked up, I guess.

My hands shiver as I try to light a smoke, a task which is so horribly familiar to me by now, yet so repulsive. But then, what I just did would be considered even worse by most people, so I hurry to dismiss the thought of quitting and inhale.

My thoughts return to how his eyes trapped mine, how he smiled at me—the kind of smile that always makes the girls melt; Jo would giggle and look away, Clea would blush a little and Laura, well, Laura would simply smile back and wink at him. I bet he had her. At least, he had her on her knees for him.

Now, this is funny. Not kind of the haha-funny, rather cry-and-smile-at-once-funny, because I'm positive he is already trying to get someone else on her knees, or maybe on his; seems he doesn't care, actually. Seems he can make anyone do this for him with only a smile, a look, and a _“please”_ murmured with his low, sexy voice.

My knees hurt a little for being on the solid ground for so long. Should have thought a summer meadow is more comfortable to kneel on, but no. Not when you're down there for ages. Or what seems ages. Not that I'm going to complain.

I shift my weight, but it doesn't help much, so I decide just to stand up—finally. He's been gone for a while now.

My legs obey to my command, which I find amusing, considering how weak they were only minutes ago. How weak I feel all over. Still, there is that aching hardness, but I do not waste my thoughts on it right now. I can take care of myself later on, and I know not only will I end up a heated bundle in my sheets by the end of this bright, beautiful afternoon, but that from this day on, his name will be on my lips every time this happens. His name on my lips, his face behind my eyelids, his soft, warm skin against my face and his … oh well, I shouldn't! It's way too disturbing, actually. Somehow, at least. But then, somehow, it's also great to think about it, so good to recall his taste, unfamiliar, but truly … exciting.

I stretch my legs a little, tentatively, and yes, they are able to carry my full weight. Not that it is a lot. The smoke reaches my eyes and it hurts, making me blink a tear away. I glance down at the cigarette in my hand and flick it away after a few seconds of staring, coming to the conclusion that I will quit. I didn't start this long ago, anyway.

Being back at the hotel is strange, partly because I feel like a total stranger myself, but mostly because I'm afraid everyone will know just by looking at me, which is total bullshit, of course. This is nothing that appears in neon letters on your forehead, after all. Not that I have ever heard.

From around the corner of the wall of elevators, where I know there is a little couch and comfortable chairs, I can hear hushed laughter. No need to reassure myself by looking. It is him. I just know it. I would be able to pick out his voice from a million. No one replies to him when he speaks though; he must be on the phone. His girlfriend, maybe. Poor thing.

The elevator stops on fourth floor, as the display panel on the wall above the doors informs me, and I sigh.

“Elijah?” he suddenly calls for me, and his head appears from behind the corner.

I wince a little, not quite sure if I can really bear this now.

He stands up, cellphone in his right hand, stubbing out a smoke with the other—I can tell by the way he bends down to the table, his arm stretched out—and then he comes towards me smiling, no: smirking.

“Hey,” I manage to say. Stupid, I know, but Jesus, I can't find any other words.

“Whatcha up to?” he asks. As if he couldn't tell. Sucker.

“Nothing,” I reply with what I hope is a nonchalant look, “just wanna get up to my room and—”

“Are you in the mood for company?” His hand reaches out to slide along my side, only a soft touch, subtle. His eyes trail down my body and stop at my crotch. I'm just happy I'm not wearing tight jeans now, for I get harder just by the way he looks at me.

The elevator's doors open, his hand and eyes withdraw, but his smirk remains, and now he raises an eyebrow, waits.

I step inside and catch his gaze in the mirror that covers the whole back of the cabin.

“Why not?”

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the wonderful **Moit** , who also made sure that all characters were returned unharmed.
> 
> [Visit my LJ-community [Bunny Bash](http://bunnybash.livejournal.com) to leave me a prompt at any time.]
> 
> [Feedback is love.]


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